


OC Kiss '16 Prompts

by SOMNlARl



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety Attacks, Boys Kissing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Game 'verse, Light Angst, M/M, balthazar thinks kissing cillian to get him to be quiet is a good idea, it's actually a great idea because he's a really good kisser, oc kiss '16, that fic where there's a power outage and cuddling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 22:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5842897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOMNlARl/pseuds/SOMNlARl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts written for OC Kiss Week 2016. A few more are coming once I get them finished up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cillian Trevelyan/Atticus Trevelyan

Another sleepless night but even still the nightmares find him; whispers of half-forgotten touches and sour breath laced with cheap whiskey ghost across his skin. Shallow breaths and tense muscles, lying stone-still as Atti sleeps peacefully next to him, curled into his side. It’s too warm in the room, near-stifling, with Atti’s arm wrapped loosely around his waist and his legs tangled in the blankets. He won’t sleep now he knows, not with the familiar tendrils of restless disquiet beginning to snake their way up from the pit of his stomach into his chest, tightening with every breath like ivy strangling a tree. 

He needs to not be here, needs to be _anywhere_ except here. 

As Cillian slips out of his grasp Atti stirs, green eyes blinking sleepily open. 

“What time is it?” Atti murmurs, voice warm, soft and thick with sleep. His hand slips across the mattress and Cillian takes it gently, tangling their fingers together and pressing a line of soft kisses across calloused knuckles before letting their hands rest at the space just above his heart. “Why’re you ‘wake?”

“Can’t sleep. But it’s early yet,” he whispers, laying back down and curling closer until they’re forehead to forehead. He smiles, brushing an errant wave of dark brown hair out of Atti’s eyes before trailing his fingers softly down the line of his jaw. “Go back to sleep, babe.”

Atti nods, eyelids fluttering shut and Cillian watches him as he drifts back to sleep. The gentle rise and fall of Atti’s chest as he breathes and the ice and snow crackling against the window nearly tempt him into a lazy doze but when he’s sure Atti’s asleep again he slips out of bed, shutting the bedroom door behind him with a soft _click_. 

He stretches, yawning as his fingers seek out the sweatshirt tossed over the back of the couch, easing it over his head. Carrick _whuffs_  softly as he fumbles for his glasses, finally locating them on the dining room table, but sleeps on, curled up on a cushion by the fireplace. 

He pads softly into the kitchen and fills the kettle, setting it to boil as he hops up to sit on the kitchen counter, gazing out at the night sky as he tucks his knees into his chest. It was still dark, the only light coming from the few stars and sliver of moon peeking out between breaks in the clouds, the sun wouldn’t begin its slow ascent over the mountains for hours yet. 

The kettle bubbles and he grabs at it before it can whistle and wake the whole building, pouring a mugful of hot water over the infuser and sighing happily as the scent of mint and rose wafts up into the air. 

He’s on his third cup, still staring up into the darkness where the pleiades should be when the kitchen door swings open and Atti shuffles in, his hair rumpled and eyes cloudy with sleep. He leans against Cillian’s side and he laughs softly, tucking him under one arm and the other hand finding his jaw, fingers trailing gently against his scruff. 

“You’re up early,” he remarks softly, bending down to press a kiss again Atti’s hair. “I thought you went back to sleep.”

“S’cold without you there.” Atti mumbles as he tucks his face into Cillian’s side, the words muffled then cut off in a yawn. 

He can hear Atti pouting, can picture the way his lower lip always quivers and his brow knits even as his eyes light up with a grin bitten-back. 

“You could have taken my blankets.”

“Not the same,” Atti grumbles and he laughs again, pulling the man closer and slipping his hands across his brow and into his thick hair. 

“Want some tea?”

Atti nods and he pulls away, filling the kettle again and setting it back on the stove to heat. As he’s reaching up to grab a second mug there’s a soft weight against his back and the warmth of a contented sigh breathed against him. He relaxes into the touch as Atti wraps his arms around his chest, burying his face into his back just between his shoulder blades. Cillian reaches around to grab at his hips, smiling at the soft sound of pleasure Atti makes. 

They don’t move until the kettle whistles. Atti pulls away, protesting and leans against the counter, his hands outstretched for the mug that Cillian presses into them. 

Atti takes a sip and smiles, sets the mug back down and grabs at Cillian’s hand to pull him closer, rising up on his toes. Atti kisses him lazily, his jaw, his cheek, his chin before Cillian caresses his cheek, capturing his lips in a soft, slow kiss. His hands travel up and down Atti’s spine and the kiss deepens, tongues sweeping softly against each other until they separate, breathless, his heart pounding high and fast against his ribs. 

“Still want to go back to sleep?” He purrs, laughing as Atti yawns again and leans against his chest. Even before the man nods he knows what the answer will be. 

Hours later he watches as the stars fall and the sun spreads its delicate oranges and pinks across the sky, reflecting warmth against newly fallen snow. Atti’s curled around him, an arm tossed haphazardly across his chest as if to keep him there, safe and warm. He smiles as lips brush lightly against his collarbone, traces idle circles with his thumb on the hand slipped into his and closes his eyes. 

As he drifts off to sleep, soothed by the soft beat of Atti’s heart against his skin and the wind screaming, he knows there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.


	2. Cillian Trevelyan/Qalaba Adaar

Qalaba was late. He was late, it wasn’t like him and the later it got the more Cillian worried. It was nearly dark and he hated to think of him out in the snow, struggling through the growing storm on his bike. He looked up with a start at the click of keys in the lock, relieved Qalaba was finally home.

“It’s really coming down out there,” Cillian called over his shoulder as the front door swung open, watching as the snow fell steadily, piling higher and higher on top of the drifts sculpted by the howling wind. The storm the news had been predicting for over a week had finally hit New Haven the night before and they’d woken to a freshly fallen blanket of snow covering everything. It had only started falling harder as the day went on, the cars in the parking lot now just piles of snow with the occasional peek of windshield or mirror underneath and the paths the plows had cleared earlier had all but disappeared.

He turned, smiling as Qalaba shook a fine layer of snow out of his hair and off his horns and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it on the back of the couch.

“I’m glad you finally made it back, I was starting to worry.” He’d tried to talk Qalaba into skipping classes and calling out of his internship at the hospital for once when the snow really started picking up but had had no luck. He refused a ride to campus and back, arguing that Cillian had better things to do than drive him around (he didn’t) and that he’d be fine on his bike, it wasn’t snowing that hard. Not being able to match his stubbornness Cillian had grudgingly relented and tried to settle in to work on his thesis but had spent more time pacing, watching the storm settle in and waiting for Qalaba to get home. A Xanax and few hours of baking had eventually calmed him enough to settle down with a book but still he’d watched, waited and worried.

“You worry too much,” Qalaba retorted as he stretched out on the couch, careful to arrange his horns away from the pillows. “But uh, maybe you were right about not riding my bike this morning.”

“You got stuck, didn’t you? I knew it! That’s why you’re late! I…”

“You told me so, yeah, I know. It’s okay though, I locked it to a lamppost, walked the rest of the way. S’not going anywhere, I’ll pick it up when the storm passes.” Qalaba grinned, flashing the crooked, gap-toothed smile that still made Cillian a little weak-kneed and his heart flutter. “Besides, I made it!”

Cillian had just opened his mouth to reply when the lights flickered then the room went black. He ran over to the balcony windows and looked out, greeted with nothing but darkness and still more snow falling harder, just barely illuminated by moonlight. “Oh,  _shit_.”

“What?”

He sighed, frustrated and tangled his fingers in his hair, pulling at it and leaving the curls mussed and falling in his face. He walked back into the living room and sat on the floor by the couch.

“Looks like the whole street’s out, wind probably knocked a tree on the line.”

“How long, do you think?”

“No idea, but probably a while if it’s a whole line. Heat’s going to be out too, I should try to get a fire going…” he turned to stand but trailed off as Qalaba grabbed at his wrist and pulled him back, shaking his head. “Oh, fuck Cal! I’m so sorry, I forgot. No fire then.”

“It’s okay, I’m never cold.”

“Right well, some of us aren’t Qunari and the living embodiment of a space heater,” Cillian replied grumpily as he left the living room, returning a few minutes later with a pile of blankets and two flashlights, tossing one in Qalaba’s direction.

Qalaba raised an eyebrow as Cillian flopped on the couch next to him, curling up in the entire pile of blankets. “You know, the heat’s only been off for five minutes. Aren’t you being a little bit dramatic?”

An exasperated huff came from the lump of blankets that had previously been his boyfriend.

“I wouldn’t have to be if _someone_ would just come closer,” came the muffled, petulant-sounding reply.

Qalaba laughed as he slid across the couch, pulling Cillian back against his chest. Cillian hummed softly as he poked his head out of the blankets, smiling, and pressed a soft kiss against the Qunari’s jaw and then against his lips, tasting the sweet mint gum he always chewed during his shifts at the hospital.

“You’re not even cold!” Qalaba pulled away from the sudden rush of warmth.

“Didn’t say I was,” Cillian grinned as he shed two of the blankets off and onto the floor. “Maybe I just wanted to cuddle. Might as well get comfortable, it could be a long night.”

Qalaba sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Could have just asked,” he huffed, the words cut off by lips brushing against his own and the quick flick of a tongue against teeth as his lips parted to return the kiss.

As a hand ran through his hair and the kiss deepened he had to admit that Cillian had a point; this wasn’t a bad way to spend a long, cold night.


	3. Cillian Trevelyan/Balthazar Trevelyan

A loud sigh from across the table interrupted what must have been the fifth time Balthazar had tried to finish up the paragraph he was reading. The text itself was difficult-enough material on its own - new research about drawing on ambient magic to lessen the drain on the caster caused by healing spells - without the constant distractions from his roommate who Balthazar swore was annoying him on purpose; it’s not like he was doing any research of his own, he never bothered.

He still didn’t know what to make of the Circle’s newest arrival. The boy, Cillian, had been at the Circle for months now but he was still just as closed-off and sullen as the first day he’d been dragged in and assigned to the bed across from his own. He’d tried reaching out to him to try to befriend him, remembering how difficult his own adjustment period had been but had been rebuffed at every turn.

He didn’t know what to make of Cillian but he did know one thing; he _definitely_ didn’t like him. When he wasn’t sulking alone in their room he was complaining about the Circle as though he was the only one who hated it here or talking about what he’d do when he got out.

_A way out of the Circle? Good luck with that,_ Balthazar thought to himself as he turned back to his book, willing his brain to tune out the sound of his roommate’s voice echoing across the library. If anything, he’d thought Cillian’s little escape attempt would have taught him that there was no way out. He was just lucky he’d been caught by a sympathetic Templar, one who’d known him in the Order. _Anyone else probably would have been made Tranquil for the attempt but no, not the ex-Templar_ he thought bitterly. Not that he would ever wish being made Tranquil on any mage but the injustice of it all grated at him.

That was the other problem with him; he’d been in the Order. Whether by his choice or not he would have been a Templar one day and might have served in a Circle, would have been just as bad as the rest of them. Vows or no vows, he was still too close to one for Balthazar’s comfort.

So no, he didn’t like Cillian. Not one bit. But that didn’t explain why Balthazar had caught himself absentmindedly staring at him, watching him as he spent time around the younger mages; it was the only thing that seemed to make Cillian happy and he was uncharacteristically gentle with them, all traces of his gruff exterior vanished for a time. Pity it didn’t last. He could be kind, and funny too - in a dry, sarcastic sort of way that he couldn’t resist responding to in kind and in those moments he started to wonder if maybe they could actually be friends.

But no, that was never going to happen. Balthazar didn’t like him. And he never would.

An even louder, more insistent sigh had him snapping the book shut. He _had_ to do something, this couldn’t continue.

“Do you mind? Some of us are actually trying to read.” He glared pointedly at Cillian and back towards his book, now tossed onto the tabletop.

The blond raised an eyebrow, an infuriatingly attractive smirk on his face. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Look, I get it. We _all_ get it. You hate it here. But could you at least hate it _quietly_?”

That had been the wrong thing to say. As soon as the words were out Cillian was starting in on his ranting again.

_“_ Oh, I’m sorry. Does it inconvenience you? I wouldn’t want my perfectly normal response to being locked up for _absolutely nothing_ to be a problem for you. Maker forbid I actually express myself,” he hissed, standing to cross next to Balthazar’s chair.

That was it. Balthazar couldn’t take it anymore and before the plan entirely formulated in his mind he wound his hand through Cillian’s hair and kissed him. With his mouth occupied he couldn’t talk, right? It would shock him into silence and, hopefully, back to their room finally leaving Balthazar free to get back to his reading.

Except something was clearly going very, very wrong.

Cillian _wasn’t_ pulling away, wide-eyed and shocked. He wasn’t stomping back to their room. He was kissing Balthazar back, leaning closer into the touch as he slipped his tongue past Balthazar’s barely parted lips. And then his fingers were winding through the blond’s curls, soft breathy moans escaping and _Maker_ when did he start making those noises and where did Cillian learn to kiss like _that_?

He pulled away first, grateful as he looked around to find the rest of the library empty.

“I, uh…” he started as Cillian turned to leave, suddenly speechless.

“Don’t think this changes anything, I still hate it here,” Cillian said with a smirk as he walked through the library, back towards the apprentice’s dormitory. “But I might just hate it a little bit less.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to allmuckledup, atardisinskyrim and thetrashhero on tumblr for letting me steal their OCs for Cillian to smooch. He had a wonderful time. :P
> 
> Find me on tumblr - xhermionedanger.


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